


blue dress revisited

by theplatonicnonyeah



Series: The World We Live In and Life In General [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplatonicnonyeah/pseuds/theplatonicnonyeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a different version of another story called blue dress. I have switched it around a little bit and made it less angsty. </p><p>In which Jim hoists himself up on a table and Sherlock never really steps out of his trousers. </p><p>In collaboration with belovedmuerto I am writing a collection of Sherlock fanfiction using songs by British group Depeche Mode as inspiration. This one takes its starting point from the song Blue Dress off the Violator album</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue dress revisited

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [blue dress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/263051) by [theplatonicnonyeah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplatonicnonyeah/pseuds/theplatonicnonyeah). 



The warehouse was cold and empty, save for a few pigeons to the right, randomly picking at things on the wet concrete floor. Despite the huge open entrance through which he had just passed, the place lay in shadows and Sherlock had to strain his eyes to see into the darkness. The window panes high up by the ceiling were yellow with dirt and did not let in any light. He could hear no sound, but sensed a presence somewhere among the deserted debris. Clearing his throat he stepped further into the dusk.

As his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness he could see that Jim was leaning against a pillar in the furthest corner of the warehouse. Behind him a door with red colour peeling off and and an exit sign above it. Jim was wearing a blue silk dress that clung to his body. His almost concave posture did nothing to hide the erection jutting forward from his pelvis. There was a tiny wet spot on the smooth silk. 

\- Fabric friction, the Irishman said in a low voice and smiled, catching Sherlock’s gaze.  
Silence.  
\- Take it off, Sherlock said.  
\- No.  
Stubborn silence. Sherlock’s eyes followed the blue outline, unable to resist observing the almost imperceptible movement underneath the straining fabric.  
\- Do you like it? Jim’s voice was full of glee.  
Sherlock let out a short laugh and met the other man’s eyes again.  
\- You should have gone for green. Suits your eyes better.  
Somehow that didn’t come out as haughty as he had intended it and he saw something flick through Jim’s mind, but couldn’t quite decipher it. As he took another step forward there was a clicking sound of a handgun being unsecured.  
\- There’s a table to your left. Go stand over there.  
Sherlock looked over to where Jim had indicated; an old-fashioned, sturdy wooden table with a leather top was standing by the wall. He looked back at Jim, who was now casually aiming the gun at him.  
Sherlock nodded and moved to the table, Jim following him slowly.  
\- You’re wearing heels, Sherlock said.  
\- I borrowed them. From a former client. They’re surprisingly comfortable. You’d like them, I think.  
\- I doubt it.  
\- Put your hands on the table, Jim ordered. Spread your legs. Yes, like that. Good. I’m going to body search you now. Can’t be careful enough these days, you know.  
\- I’m not carrying a gun.  
\- Well, then you can see this as gratuitous groping instead, Jim said and slid his hand under Sherlock’s jacket and up his chest.  
The touch was so unexpected Sherlock jerked back, bumping his butt against Jim’s still protruding erection.  
\- Easy, Jim whispered as he continued exploring Sherlock’s body through his clothes. It was almost unbearably intimate and yet absolutely impersonal. Sherlock could feel the hard steel of the handgun resting against his buttocks as Jim’s free hand slipped quickly in and out of his trouser pockets. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the search ended. Jim stepped away from him, creating a shaft of cool space between them.  
Sherlock turned around. In his heels Jim now almost stood as tall as himself. He studied the other man’s face. Jim’s eyes were dark pools, impenetrable to Holmesian scrutiny. “They are like mirrors”, he thought.  
They stood like this for a few seconds, until Jim said:  
\- So...here we are.  
But there was nothing threatening in his delivery.  
Tentatively, Sherlock raised his hand to Jim’s face and cupped it to Jim’s cheek, feeling the stubble against his palm. He drew his thumb slowly over the thin skin on Jim’s lower lip, noticing jaw muscles relaxing and lips parting slightly to let his thumb enter. Then a short, sharp pain as Jim’s teeth bit down. He gasped, but did not try to remove his hand. Jim smiled, loosening his hold, then pursed his lips to suck the thumb further into his mouth.  
\- You will gag, Sherlock said.  
Jim pushed the thumb out with his tongue.  
\- No, I won’t. I’ve practised, he said and opened his mouth wide to make place for the gun, holding Sherlock’s eyes steadily locked with his own. He blinked involuntarily as he tried to accommodate space for the steel. Removing the weapon, he laughed dryly and took a step to the left, rounding Sherlock to lean against the edge of the table.  
\- You agreed to this.  
\- Yes, Sherlock replied.  
Turning his back to Sherlock, Jim placed the gun on the table.  
\- Undress me, he said.

 

The zipper slid down effortlessly. Inserting a finger under each strap Sherlock pulled them over the shoulders, slowly letting the dress fall off Jim’s body. Angular shoulder blades revealed themselves as the fabric slid down. Sherlock’s breathing was slow and controlled, his hands dry and steady.The silence in the place now almost tangible, every rustle of the silk against skin audible. Even the pigeons appeared to be waiting.  
Sherlock traced a line with his right index finger downwards along Jim’s spine until he reached the place where it began to curve. “Birthmark on the left trapezius, back dimples”, he noticed. Then he returned upwards again, to the shoulder blades. Drawing circles on the left one he noticed goosebumps appearing on Jim’s skin. He leaned in closer, listening to Jim’s breathing pattern change. With his tongue he repeated his finger’s movement. For a second, Jim stopped breathing, then let out a long whizzing sound and almost fell forward against the table, steadying himself in the last moment with fingers spread out against the cool leather surface.  
Sherlock’s hand moved swiftly around Jim’s waist and pulled them together, hip against hip. There was a sound, like a plaintive moan, emanating from one of them. Or perhaps from both.  
A beat, both men assessing the situation, hovering on the edge of abandoning restraint. 

They fit together like this, like two jigsaw pieces. 

Then sudden, fervent movement. Jim trying to reach the zipper in Sherlock’s trousers, while at the same time guiding Sherlock’s right hand to his achingly hard cock.  
\- Ah! Sherlock groaned as Jim yanked down his underpants.  
\- Do you want to fuck me? Jim almost yelled.  
\- No. God, no...oh, fuck.  
Sherlock’s cock slid between Jim’s buttocks, the wet glans hitting Jim’s balls in an erratic rhythm as he rutted against him. His hand jerked up and down the other man’s shaft.  
\- Work with me, Jim hissed between the indelicate thrusts. Stop!  
He pushed Sherlock away with such force that Sherlock almost fell over, trousers still pooled around his ankles. Jim swirled around facing Sherlock, both of them panting.  
\- For a musician, you’ve got a bloody lousy sense of rhythm!  
A smile flashed across Sherlock’s face. He nodded silently and reached down to pull up his trousers.  
\- No, Jim said. We’re not done yet.  
\- I can’t...  
Sherlock’s erection was beginning to wane, hanging disappointedly between his legs. Jim’s was still very much alive, being helped by a steady movement of his dominant, left hand. Sherlock watched in fascination. He had seen other men’s organs before, both slack and erect. It wasn’t new and yet the vision before him held a different kind of allure. The other man was smaller than him, both in height and size, but his cock perfectly straight. His own - and he knew this from studying himself in a mirror - curved upwards quite majestically.  
\- You like watching, Jim noted and hoisted himself up onto the table. This wall is cold, he said in passing as he leaned back against it and kicked off the high heels. With knees bent and legs wide apart, he rested his feet against the table top.  
\- Maybe I should have screwed a pair of stirrups onto this thing. That would have given you full viewing pleasure.  
The last word was uttered like a sigh as he began stroking himself more purposefully.  
\- Come on, don’t be shy, darling! There’s just you and me here. I can see you like this.  
He was right, Sherlocked realised as he felt himself grow hard again. But he didn’t want to touch himself, not just yet. Instead, he watched as Jim teased himself closer and closer to a climax, glistening pre-come wetting his hand.  
\- Can I come in your mouth? Jim suddenly blurted.  
\- No.  
\- Oh, fuck! Skin...flint...jeeesus!  
Jim came in white burst that spilled onto the dress lying on the floor beneath the table. Momentarily he closed his eyes and heaved a loud, satisfied sigh. Sweat glistened on his chest. When he opened his eyes there was a roguish twinkle in them as he looked Sherlock over. He raised himself up and slid down from the table onto the floor.  
\- Dogs. Do you like dogs?  
Sherlock blinked, unsure how to respond, as Jim slowly crept closer on all fours, until he came to a halt with his face just below Sherlock’s no longer flaccid penis.  
\- Shall I lick you? Jim asked and stuck out his tongue, catching a drop of pre-come emerging from Sherlock’s meatus.  
Sherlock suddenly became aware that his knees were shaking. In fact, his legs seemed to be vibrating as if a switch had turned on an inner current. His body wanted to yield and keel over, but he willed himself to stay upright as Jim very carefully placed moist lips against his balls and sucked them into his mouth. A faint, whimpering sound emanated from his throat as he felt a hand close around his cock and slowly retract the foreskin. His mind focused into one single point of pleasure, at first a tiny shimmering gemstone, but soon a kaleidoscope of colours. He was aware of his hands digging into Jim’s hair, grabbing a fistful to move himself in and out of a wet, open mouth. At some point he felt a finger circling the spot between his testicles and anus. He probably cried out towards the end, as ejaculate spurted out into the other man’s mouth. Then his knees finally gave way and he fell heavily onto the floor.  
\- You should eat more vegetables. It makes the spunk taste sweeter.  
Jim was already standing up, wiping his mouth absent-mindedly and looking around for something. He produced a bag from behind the pillar where he had been standing and began dressing, pulling on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt.  
\- Sorry, I can’t stay for cuddles. Got to dash.  
Sherlock rose on unsteady legs, pulling up his trousers and fumbling with the button to close them. Jim swung the now empty bag onto his shoulder and pointed with his chin towards the table.  
\- I’ll leave the gun over there. I believe it belongs to John Watson.  
Then he turned around and exited through the chipped red door.


End file.
